


Cry Me A River

by MyBeautifulDecay



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-09-28 12:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20425838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBeautifulDecay/pseuds/MyBeautifulDecay
Summary: After hearing of the death of her uncle Lamb, Claire travels to Scotland to arrange his funeral.





	1. Chapter 1

The train northbound was packed, not unusual, but it made Claire feel exposed. She’d begun crying the moment she’d received the phone call and hadn’t stopped since. It was the reason she was using public transport in the first place and not driving - the last thing she needed was to be involved in a car accident because of her impaired vision. 

Adorned with inappropriately large sunglasses on a dismal day, with her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck to hide as much of her face as possible, she had boarded at Oxford, her chest tight as it suddenly dawned on her that she was trailing all the way up to Glasgow and she wouldn’t be seeing Lamb alive. 

“Christ…” she sighed under her breath, her eyes tingling once more as the tears began to build. 

Her uncle, Quentin Lambert, had been settled in Scotland for some time - something quite odd for him, he was definitely more of the travelling sort. He’d started on a memoir that he’d meant to publish and had, on several occasions, asked for Claire's companionship and assistance. Caught up in her own drama, she had declined and the guilt sat low in her belly making it almost impossible to eat or sleep. 

A gentle Irish train guard pulled her from her dark thoughts and she quietly pulled her ticket from the small purse that sat open on the food tray in front of her before going back to staring out of the window. 

Parents both dead by the tender age of twelve, Claire had been sent to live with Lamb. His life as a traveling archeologist was not suited to raising a child and he had tried to place Claire in a boarding school - though she had other ideas. Smiling, she thought back to the day she’d finally pushed the headmistress of the school too far causing uncle Lamb to have to cut short a sudden trip to India and return to England to fetch her. She remembered fondly throwing the stupid boater she’d been graced with as part of the uniform into a nearby hedge as they’d driven away down the long drive. Her formative years had been spent in the desert - surrounded by her uncles peers, graduates and students, she had learned to fend for herself.

Though she had good memories of her mother and father, it was Lamb who had raised her through her most difficult teenage years and at the end of his life, when he had so desperately wanted to involve her in his hobbies once more, she had forsaken him for silly follies. 

Lost to her guilt and self-loathing, she completely lost track of time and it wasn’t until the young woman sat next to her rose from her seat that she realised the train had come to a grinding halt.

The battle through Glasgow Central train station gave her a moment to focus on something else, her heart racing and her hands clammy as she pulled her rather large suitcase through, nudging and shoving tourists and locals alike in order to make it out onto the street. 

Her name shone in bright red ink, the sign hiding the face of the man who held it as she shook her head. 

“I h-hadn’t called anyone?” She said, shocked that there was anyone here who would know her. 

“Aye, ye did. The other day. I thought it would be easier for ye if someone was here to collect you rather than spend more time on yer own.”

“Oh.” She replied. The word stuck in her throat as she recalled the very short phone call she’d made to the funeral director a few mornings prior when she’d booked her train ticket. A simple nod to the man who’d been emailing her and organising as much as he could with her hundreds of miles away. “Are you with the funeral company then?” Claire found it odd that any of them would be worried enough to come out and collect her personally - but was grateful at the same time. Riding in the comfort of a car without having to hunt down a taxi, make inane conversation and then struggle to find her uncles address made the end of the journey just a little easier. 

“Ah,” he replied, finally pulling the sign low enough that she could see the bright mop of red hair that sat proudly above a glowing set of blue eyes, “nah, I’m no’ with them. I’m Jamie,” he continued, holding out his free hand for her to shake. “Jamie Fraser. I was working on the book with yer uncle. I work with the publicist he’d hired. Did he tell ye?”

When she didn’t respond, he simply smiled and continued as if the small twitch of her lips was enough. “I’m a ghost writer. He was struggling to write himself, so he hired me to type whilst he spoke, told me all sorts of stories and I, in turn, edited it, re-worded it sometimes or just added it to the appropriate section of the book.”

Guilt reared its ugly head again, making Claire understand more fully why Lamb might have wanted her company so badly and she bit her lip to contain the tears. Repeating herself, she swallowed audibly and nodded, “oh...good.” Making it sound sincere, she smiled as much as she was able before allowing him to place his arm softly around her waist and guide her towards his waiting car.

The ride itself was quiet and uneventful. Claire needed the time to decompress the situation, her brain going from nought to one hundred in the short twenty minute car journey. They approached the quaint brownstone property on the outskirts of the city with little to no issue. It had its own private garage and Jamie flicked a switch on a small remote to open and close the large grey-brown door. Taking the stairs in a small passage way, they made their way up onto the first floor, Jamie opening and closing everything behind her as well as carrying her heavy case. 

“So,” she spoke, her voice husky from her constant sobbing, “how long have you known my uncle?” Though she knew it must have been long enough for him to entrust the lad with a key to his home and his car. 

“Nearly three years now, going on for four. We were…” stopping, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve clearly choked up by recent events himself, “well, we were so very close to finishing. Part of me thinks it should be me who writes the ending, ye ken, for his memory. But I dinna even know where to start.” 

“Shit.” Cursing, she turned her back on Jamie and held her hand over her mouth. She wanted to scream, to cry, to punch something...mostly she wanted to turn back time and relive all of the times she’d said no to coming up here and turn them into a yes. Just once would have been enough, and she knew it. Just one time, she would have arrived and never left… “I should have been here.”

“He spoke of ye often. Yer in the manuscript, if you want to read it?” Avoiding her self flagellation completely, Jamie placed his hand on her shoulder and offered her an olive branch. Though he couldn’t deny her deprecating words, it wasn’t his place to say what she should or should not have done. He could see the guilt drawn plainly on her face, though he couldn’t see her eyes he knew that they’d be red rimmed and she seemed so incredibly tired that he couldn’t bring himself to add any more blame at her door. 

“T-thank you, Jamie. For everything. For clearly being here for him when I wasn’t. I’m sure you were a dear friend.” 

Knowing her uncles proclivities - even from a young age - she knew his interest in young men rather than ladies and part of her, in her grief, wondered whether he had become more than just a friend to Lamb. But her instincts told her now was not the time to pry. 

“I would really love to read it.”

“We have a few days until the funeral, how about I email you the first draft. It’s open ended, mind, so dinna worry about the sudden stop.”

“Thank you.” She said again, taking his hand, bringing it to her mouth and kissing it softly as she turned to find her way upstairs. Halting at the door she assumed to lead her that way, she turned -removing her glasses as she did so. “I’m so rude, sorry, is there a guest bedroom here? Somewhere I’d be alright staying for a few weeks?”

“Of course! And dinna be daft, ye arena rude at all. Ye’ve just lost someone dear to ye. I’m all over the place too, so I canna imagine how you feel.”

Though she got the distinct feeling that he could. 

“Can I ask how long ye intend to stay for Claire? If ye dinna mind?”

Having been a trust fund child living off the money gifted to her from her parents’ death, she’d had no worries in the years after her graduation. The estate had been in the family for hundreds of years, friends of the family the same, and she had finished both her BSc and her Masters in History before going on to complete a few of her own independent research papers whilst living off that inheritance. Oxford, although her home for many years, held little to return to and her heart almost stopped at the realisation as the dread crept along her veins. 

“A month, maybe. Once the funeral is done I want to stay and finalise his estate. The lawyers have already been in touch but it might take a while to go through everything that was in his name, notify them and so on. Do you live here, Jamie?” She added her question quietly, as if the asking of it might infer something else. 

“Ach, no. I moved in for the last few weeks. I think he kent it was nearing the end and wanted the book finished. He insisted that was the best, so that we could work day and night as we needed. But I have my own place across the city.”

‘I should have been here…’ the statement rattled around in her head once more, the ghost of it returning to haunt her. If she had, things might have been different.

“First on the right as you get to the top of the stairs,” he whispered, seeing her pupils dilate and her lips clench as she lost herself in thought. He could see that she desperately needed some time to herself, to cry and to deliberate on all the things left undone and unsaid between her and Lamb, “it’s got a double bed and an en-suite. He meant for ye to have that room and it’s all been made up for ye.” 

Nodding, she held her purse tightly and rushed off up and away from him, leaving her suitcase there. Seeing the room, she let herself in, closed the door and flopped against it - her body feeling boneless as she slumped down and curled herself into a ball, crying as the words of the last song she’d heard on the radio, a Michael Bublè classic to add some irony to the situation, in the kitchen swirled around her crowded mind.


	2. Chapter Two

In the days following their first meeting, Claire did as Jamie had suggested and began reading her uncle’s memoirs the moment he emailed them to her. 

One box of tissues hadn’t been enough. 

Neither had two. 

The bin beside her bed had been emptied a few times by the maid who supposedly was only employed to clean once a week but seemed to be there every day. She would (unobtrusively) appear in Claire’s room. Remove the overflowing bin and return it empty - a task she was certainly capable of herself but had no energy to point out. 

As predicted, the draft was funny, sad, motivating and humbling all at the same time. She could pick out Lamb's voice in an instant and it made her sob harder to think that she’d missed these precious moments. There were embarrassing stories written about her, but she found that she didn’t mind them. This was for Lamb, by Lamb and she knew everything he’d passed on to Jamie was something interesting and vibrant, something suitable to be shared. Her past was suddenly coming back to life before her eyes, an easier time (though she hadn’t realised it). Free of the restraints of her family name and the ridiculous entitlement that had gone with it. The words seemed to lift off the page and in an instant she was back in a dusty tent, the taste of her first cigarette still coating her tongue as she coughed and laughed with some of the younger members of the group. 

It had been a flurry of thought, her mind alive with images she’d forgotten long ago, an emotional rollercoaster that excited her and punched her in the gut all at the same time. When she reached the end, Claire had returned to the beginning and started again. She read deeper into each and every word, hooked on the sentences as they took her from his early life - a life before her own had even started - through to nearly the very end, until Jamie’s voice became larger than Lamb's as he took the reins of the story. 

As the day of the funeral dawned, Claire had yet to even leave the confines of her appointed room. Cleverly, food had been left on a tray outside her door at mealtimes and she had not been disturbed by anyone in the house for anything. There were calls, of course, from the family solicitor and the funeral director to arrange the final details but he had sorted the newspaper announcements in a number of different ways to ensure that colleagues far and wide knew of poor Quentin’s departure. 

She had even written the eulogy - but, without thinking, she had incorporated and rewritten some of her favourite adventures from the book. It seemed fitting to use his own words, to add a little of Lamb into his own funeral. 

Though without Jamie’s support, she knew she couldn’t use it. 

Terror gripped her at the mere thought of asking for permission. Having been absent -her own choice- when she should have been a more conscientious niece, Claire felt unworthy of using the words Jamie had so very carefully hashed out with Lamb during their long days together. Part of her thought *maybe* he should be reading the speech that sent him off to his final resting place. After all, it was him that had seen him the last important years of his life. 

She could tell, though, that there was no way he would accept that. Something about his demeanor the day he’d picked her up, unannounced, at the train station told her much of his character. He was selfless, that she could guess. Willing to go above and beyond for the people he cared for - and she suspected he held Lamb in such high acclaim that he’d personally seen to it that she was provided for in every way from the second she arrived as her uncle would have wanted (despite her previous lack of attention). 

Staring at her unpacked suitcase, the remnants of her search for a decent funeral outfit still splayed half across the floor of the small room, she sighed and turned to face her closed laptop once more. The temptation to open it up and re-read the manuscript again was growing by the minute though she knew she didn’t have the time. 

“Claire?” A knock on the door brought her out of her longing and she threw the half crumpled summer dress (why she’d packed that, she’d never know) onto the bed with a pile of other rejected outfits.

“Yes? Is the car here?” She questioned, looking at her watch to confirm that it was indeed still too early and that she still had time. 

“Nay, not yet. I just wanted to make sure ye were alright. Mary said ye didna eat the breakfast she prepared for ye this morning and I was a wee bit worrit.” 

Pulling the ties of her dressing gown closer around her chest, she pulled the door open wide enough for him to see that she wasn’t half starved and languishing on the floor. For the first time in a while an honest smile graced her lips and Jamie’s forehead evened out and the weight of worry fell from his shoulders. “I don’t want her to think I’m not grateful...it’s just that I'm not really that hungry this morning, sorry.” 

“Did ye read it?” He asked, changing tac as he pointed to her computer where it sat, positioned haphazardly on the bedside table. He seemed intrigued and the rise of his question gave her the perfect opening. 

“I did. It’s...magnificent. So powerful, and funny too. I forgot how much he used to make me laugh.” Her face lit up as she spoke, the deep lines on her brow easing as she sat on the bed causing Jamie to have to cross the invisible line into her room for the first time since she’d arrived. “Honestly, I can’t imagine it not being snapped up - at least by his former colleagues and friends - the moment it hits the press.” 

The smile that made Jamie’s face beam from ear to ear made Claire’s heart swell. Genuinely worried about her response, he was obviously pleased that she’d found it acceptable. 

“I have a question to ask, if it’s alright with you?” She continued, his relaxed demeanour bolstering her.

“Aye, ask away.” 

“I’ve written my speech, the eulogy. Reading through his biography gave me a myriad of ideas, it reminded me of how much light and energy he brought to the world...but I used it to help me in writing my account of him. I’ve tried to put my own memories into my own words, though I’d like to use some of his own -some direct quotes from the manuscript…”

“Can you hold on for a moment, please?” He asked, holding his hand up and then rushing from the room.

Holding her hands together in her lap, she waited, her heart beating double time as she tried to quell the rising panic. If he said no, she’d understand but she would have some quick thinking to do. 

She had nothing to worry about as Jamie returned in a flash, a piece of paper clutched carefully between his fingers. “Here,” he said, passing it over, “read this. I think it would be perfect to add to what you’ve already written. It was something we spoke about in passing the last few days and I wrote it down, just on the off chance that it would fit somewhere. No’ knowing, of course, that it might be the last thing we spoke about in reference to the book.” 

Happiness fled from his eyes for a second as the sobering reality of what they were about to do set in before he shook the sombre feeling from his bones and placed his hands back carefully in his freshly steamed trousers. 

“Oh, Jamie,” she sobbed, the new tears blurring the words as she held the paper away so that they didn’t ruin the script, “it’s perfect...but I think you should read this. You heard his voice, you’ve written what he told you so beautifully that I think he would want it to be you who voiced this in church.” 

Grinning as he shook his head in disbelief, he took the proffered notepad back from Claire and placed it in his jacket pocket. “Are ye sure?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Ye should wear this,” he returned, changing the conversation once more as he plucked a clean lined black dress from the unsullied pile on the case. “Ye’ve still got the blazer he had made for you, the one wi’ the tools embroidered on the pockets and down the collar?” He asked, reminding her of a later section of the book, one where he had detailed Claire’s Masters graduation gift in detail including the story of the seamstress who’d adorned the pesky fabric and pinned herself that many times she’d scored the prints off her fingers by the end. 

“Yes,” replying through the rapidly falling tears, she pointed to the door where the aforementioned article was hanging neatly on the back. “I still have it.” 

“Aye. The dress wi’ that. You’ll look stunning, Claire.” 

\--

The service went out without a hitch; the church was packed, people having travelled halfway across the globe to share this arduous time with both Claire and Jamie. She’d spoken at length, far surpassing the one sided sheet of paper she had originally intended to stick to, the words falling from her freely. She felt stronger than she had on entering, her eyes glazed and large as she took in the sheer size of the audience, but once she had started, she found it difficult to stop. 

Jamie did his part spectacularly, having almost the entire visiting congregation in hysterics. Just as Claire had predicted.

It made the wake a more relaxed affair and she stayed in amongst a group of Lambs oldest friends for the most part, laughing and reminiscing with them about everything she’d been taught by them and Lamb. 

Seeing the light hearted nature of the conversation, Jamie watched from afar, talking to people here and there about the anecdotes he had shared during the funeral. She’d been quiet, of course, barely making a sound in the house since her arrival and he’d been cautiously optimistic about her opening up to him sometime soon. The aura of sadness she carried with her had distanced itself, the invisible black cloud dissipating with every breath she took of Scottish air and although she was still a mostly closed book, a small part of him wanted to entice her to stay and heal in Glasgow, on neutral ground, rather than return to Oxford straight away. 

“I think that’s the last, Jamie.” Breaking the silence, he looked up to see the empty living room, a few plates strewn around with various elements of discarded food in the absence of life which had once preceded it but no more mourners. 

“We should…”

“How about we leave it, just until tomorrow,” she interjected, sliding the last of the food waste into an open black bag, “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

“Aye,” succumbing to the extreme fatigue that covered him from head to toe, he grabbed a tumblr and held it aloft, “agreed. How about a wee dram and a private toast?”

“Perfect.”

“To Quentin.” The commencement began with him passing Claire a double whack of whisky before clinking his glass with her own. “A man of honour…”

“...and grace…”

“...with passion and love in his heart.”

“Long may he rest in peace.” Claire finished, slugging back the spirit and closing her dry eyes. She’d finally cried herself out, and though she felt the familiar tinge of sadness building in her chest, she managed to feel somewhat at peace herself at long last.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie grow closer in the wake of the funeral.

Laughter rang through the empty halls of the property as Claire sat with her legs curled under her, a fresh glass -of water this time- between her fingers and her blazer now slung across the back of the sofa. She’d removed her shoes and tights, her bare legs grateful to be free of the itchy, tight fabric as she expanded upon some of the tales contained within the unpublished manuscript. 

“He found us hidden beneath some ancient fabric, behind the dig site with a pack of cards with the pile of recently excavated coins...pretending to a group of devious poker merchants with our eyes only for unclaimed artifacts. I’d taken someone's hat, I don’t recall whose now, and had his pipe, unlit of course, between my lips trying out an indecipherable Italian accent.”

“He said he thought ye might be trying to sell them on the black market at first.”

“He did not!” Tipping her head back, she tried to disguise the snort she made as she swallowed the water the wrong way. Coughing, Claire righted herself, her eyes coated with a fine mist as she twitched her toes beneath her bum. “He knew that he’d told me where they were. I mean, his face was a picture. I don’t think he ever expected that I would take them - but he certainly knew I wasn’t capable of that.”

Winking, Jamie smiled, the atmosphere much lighter than it had been in days. “I ken, I’m just winding ye up.”

“Rude.” 

Her chest suddenly felt heavy as a strange feeling tickled its way along the base of her trapped feet. She felt serene. Happy and content. She was laughing freely and enjoying the company of another human - something that she hadn’t experienced in a long time. 

Coughing, she hid the brief moment of silence before continuing. “So, did you meet Lamb before he signed up with the publisher, or afterwards?”

“Ah, weel, it was my father who started the whole thing off. Him and Lamb were drinking one night, so I believe, when he was up near Inverness - my family home,” he added for guidance, “and they got to talking. Ye ken, aye? Those in depth conversations which only come from the lure of liquor and warmth in yer belly.”

Claire nodded stoically, listening intently to the story. 

“My da and my uncle Murtagh are incredible storytellers, that’s where I got my love of books and tales from, and they were blown away by all of his experiences. They told him, in no few words, that he needed to write down some of them, send them to me and get a team involved in producing it. From what I could tell he’d had it wi’ journals and publishing for the industry and students. Instead, he was at the stage where he just wanted to have some fun wi’ his past. Da said he’d been in the pub a few nights during his stay, it seemed he became a bit of a treasure wherever he went, regailing whoever would listen about his passion, about history and his most amazing finds. And he said why not!”

“And the rest is history.” Claire finished for him.

“That it is.” 

“Can I show you something?” Standing, she placed her empty glass back on the tray and started walking away without waiting for an answer. The stories had reminded her of a possession she’d purposely added to her otherwise meaningless pile of clothing in her hurry to pack and leave. 

Following close behind her, Jamie waited until they were once again stood in her room before he spoke. “Is it magic?”

“Oh yes, very magical. How could it not be?” Passing over the necklace, she waited for him to turn it over in his palms.

“A coin?” He asked, seeing the old inscription around the gold lace-lined piece. 

“One of the *stolen* ones.” She whispered.

Without even thinking about it, she dragged the zipper down her dress, shimmied herself out of it and threw it onto the back of the armchair facing the window. She’d grown up with a sort of misplaced sense of decency and once she’d been in Lamb’s company, anything she’d learned before; undressing only in the company of close family and partners, had systematically been thrown out of the proverbial window. 

Standing bare, with only a small pair of pants on, she unclipped her restrained curls and let them fall to her shoulders. 

Unaware of Jamie’s open-mouthed expression, she kept her eyes on the gold chain where it rested in his now shaking hands and cocked her head to the side slightly. “I’ve never shown anyone else, I never wear it for fear that someone will recognise it and have it taken for a museum piece - though I’m sure most would assume, naturally, that it’s simply a reproduc- ...are you alright?” She asked, finally noticing his pale countenance as he swallowed audibly. 

“Claire...yer…?” He stammered, causing Claire to look down immediately, blush and turn away. 

“O-oh...sorry, I forgot...I…”

“No! I should, well...I mean, I’ll leave. The necklace is stunning…”

Turning back in an instant, she let some underused part of her brain take the lead, ignoring her rational side once more as she reached a hand out to stop him from leaving.

He too had removed his jacket and tie, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow as they’d come to relax downstairs. The house was warm, the heating bringing it to a nice temperature as the small amount of whisky boiled in their blood. 

Claire watched as she took his shirt sleeve, the muscles in his arm contracting a little as he stopped dead in his tracks. 

Taking a step closer, she let her hand slip down to his waist, running around the top of his trousers before coming to rest of the first visible button on his white dress shirt. It was still firmly laced through its specific hole as she leaned her head against the hollow between his shoulder blades and inhaled quietly. 

“Tell me to stop,” she sighed, a pang of grief twisting in her belly as the buffet food sat heavy in her stomach, “I will, and I’ll apologise...sincerely. I didn’t mean--”

“What if I dinna want ye to stop?” The lilt of his voice made her breath hitch, a steady line of sweat worming its way down her back as she calmly threaded the button free of the hole and let her finger slip beneath the starched fabric to rest below his belly button. 

An acute sense of awareness washed over her as he replied, a sudden acknowledgement, almost, of his prior familiarity with her through Lamb’s tales and she immediately felt exposed, emotionally vulnerable but somehow safe, too. She’d never had an issue with men or attracting them, her name worked a sort of insatiable fascination from her general acquaintances but, she realised, she was never the instigator of such liaisons. She had never been in a position where she *wanted* someone as much as she now wanted Jamie. 

The vivid recollection of a previous encounter slipped to mind without her asking it to, and she kissed the side of Jamie’s neck, urging him to turn as if to cleanse her of the vision. 

“I thought perhaps…” she began, her lips hovering perilously close to his as she continued to undress him. Feeling him against her through his trousers, she shook off her previous notions of him and Lamb and kissed him fiercely, her breath coming in uneven pants as he returned the favour with equal passion. 

“What?” He returned between caresses. “That maybe yer uncle and I…?” 

It was said in jest, as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself; let alone bring himself to believe that she might have thought that - especially given their current state. 

“Yes...and no, I wasn’t thinking particularly clearly at the time. I just...maybe?”

Letting her guide him towards the bed as she bumbled her way through the explanation, he tried to contain his laughter. “Is it strange to say that I fell in love with ye through the manuscript?” He added as she turned to sit on the mattress beneath him. He still had hold of her hand, though he had somehow managed to lose his shirt during the journey, and he ran his fingers over the back of it as he knelt at her feet. “As I wrote, I looked at all the pictures Quentin had collected of ye, from yer graduations to the ones he’d seen on yer Facebook profile - all printed to a high quality and carefully positioned around the house and although ye werena here in person, the ghost of you always was.”

Drawing him forwards, she didn’t stop to question how, or why, the heat of the moment combined with his passionate words made her dizzy with lust and she lay backwards, watching him as he positioned himself over her before removing her underwear and anchored his hips using her legs. 

“There’s something about you,” she muttered to herself.

“I dinna want ye to do this just because yer sad.” Answering the unasked question, he look over her as her expression softened. “I know ye arena drunk, but yer still in mourning.”

“It isn’t to forget. It’s something...more…” she uttered whilst undoing his trousers and partially removing them with her feet. “I...feel...when I’m with you something more than unending nothingness and bleak dread.” 

“Ye’ll stay then, for a little longer after the estate is settled?”

“You want me to?”

Jamie scoffed, he was mostly naked. She was *completely* naked. And now she questioned his motives. “Aye, I don’t just do this wi’ anyone, Claire.” It was a serious point and she could tell that he meant it. If not with Lamb, he was an attractive man. He worked out. She looked over him, watching the swell of his pectoral muscles down to the sleek rise of his toned stomach and it was clear that it wasn’t there by accident. Of course it didn’t mean that he did, but he could have a selection of women hanging off his every word. But she trusted him, as she had from the beginning, truth be told. 

A sudden shift in the mood made Jamie aware of her insecurity and he continue kissing her, only softer this time. “I’ll be gentle wi’ you, we dinna have to rush.” 

“I don’t think I remember ever experiencing gentle.” Her breathless answer made his face heat in anger. He knew little of the upper classes of society but he could tell through some of the stories he’d been told that an archaic world surrounded it. She definitely had means, but that didn’t mean that men treated her as any less of an object. 

“Then let me show you.” He chose his words deliberately, avoiding the prickly subject of those who’d, in the past, caused her any emotional damage in favour of showing her a more promising future. 

Letting his actions speak for themselves, Claire let her body mould against his, their lips sealed solidly as he rocked his hips cautiously between her thighs. They moved seamlessly for a while, lost completely to the sensation of duality that linked them whilst breathing softly against one another. He waited an inordinate amount of time before he moved his knees a little and shifted himself upwards. As promised, he was gentle; moving inch by inch and watching her face for any obvious signs of distress.

“Don’t stop.” She gasped, overcome and needy. He was moving a little faster now, caught up in his own pleasure as well as measuring her own. Captivated, she tried to open her eyes but only managed to squint and see his face contorted in, what she assumed to be, a similar way to hers. As the minutes passed, and the tension built within her, she noticed that he never faltered. Reaching upwards, she let her palm lie over his cheek which caused him to lower his head once more, his breathing becoming more uneven as he let his tongue linger along the edge of her bottom lip. 

She felt it too, the seemingly endless bolt that ripped and tore through her in the most pleasant way. Her toes curled, and her fingers wormed their way into his hair as she tugged and pulled him against her with all her might. Her thighs clenched and she felt the bruising as the bones of his hips dug into her flesh. 

“Oh God, Claire...Christ…” he inhaled quietly, his movements stilling, his hips dropping, the sweat on his brow rolling down the side of his face as he listened to her cry out, her whole body shaking beneath him for a good thirty seconds. 

“Jamie.” She sighed, content and boneless as she gathered her wits about her enough to realise that he’d stopped to watch her fall apart and hadn’t moved a muscle since. “Please, don’t stop...not now.” Coaxing him onwards, she forced her legs from the mattress where they’d flopped to keep his arse where it was. 

“I just wanted to see ye.” His words were low but clear as he licked his dry lips. It didn’t take him long to re-find his rhythm and she returned the favour by watching him, her eyes catching each and every twitch of his face. Beautiful in the midsts of passion, she noted the slight shadow of stubble on his chin, the red/blonde hairs that lined the top and down the sides of his lips until they disappeared beneath his chin. He had a strong jaw and high cheekbones, his skin stretched across his face so that there was a dip between the both that was stained red and coated in a sweet sheen of sweat. 

So taken with gazing and re-evaluating his features, Claire almost missed the tell tale signs that he was close to the end. Having taken gentle to its precise meaning, she felt the familiar twinge of that build herself, her calves growing heavy, her belly tingling in anticipation as Jamie bit his lip, clenched his fists in the bed sheets either side of her head and dropped his forehead to rest against hers.

Breathing quickly, their chests bumping softly against one another as Jamie fell onto his side and bought Claire as close as he possibly could, he twined his leg through hers and smiled in the dimmed light of the guest bedroom. 

“That’s more that I could have ever wished for.” She whispered, her thumb caressing the hairs she’d been admiring only moments before beneath his chin. 

“I dinna break promises, Sassenach.”

She barely heard him, her eyes closed and her breathing even as she curled herself around him; letting the more than satisfying end to a sorrowful day melt her bones.


	4. Chapter Four

Sitting with her back to the desk, Claire watched the city thriving below her. With the funeral over, she had the lawyers, solicitors and Lamb’s will to deal with. Jamie had kindly helped her, making endless cups of tea and neatly filing piles of stocks and shares as she called the companies to inform them of his death. 

There had been some tears, the enormity of the task getting the better of her as the days wore on but for the most part she had been consumed with paperwork and finalising the rest of the estate. 

“This shouldn’t take too long, Miss Beauchamp…” The solicitor was dressed rather informally, his shirt top button undone with no tie to be seen but she just smiled and shrugged - it seemed such a pointless interest, to be invested in the clothing of others no matter their profession. 

Seeing her expression, he placed his hand over his neck, a light blush coating his cheeks as if he suddenly remembered his outfit faux-pas.

“There were a couple of express wishes that Mr Beauchamp set down in writing, ones you might not know of. Would you like to take a seat?”

\--

“You had a call whilst you were out.” Jamie popped his head around the open door, talking to her along the corridor as she shook the remnants of the misty raindrops from her coat and hung it carefully on the rail.

“Oh,” she responded, confused, she hadn’t given Lamb’s phone number to anyone and couldn’t figure out quickly who’d have gone to such trouble to find it. She’d been with the solicitor all day, he was the only one likely to contact her and they have nothing much else to talk about now. “From who?” 

“Someone called Frank...Randall, I think.”

Anger spiked, the blood seeming to rush to her head in an instant. 

Jamie raised his brows, his eyes widening slightly as he opened and closed his mouth once, wondering if he should press her for more since it was clear from her facial response that the callers name had not been pleasantly received. 

“So he can get off his backside for a minute…” she muttered under her breath, “but only when it suits.”

“Are you alright?” He asked cautiously. 

“Sure.” She returned, scratching her head before opening her bottle of water and taking a swift swig, replacing the lid she placed it on the coaster and wiped the residue from her mouth. 

“I think that might be a fib.” 

“Usually he’s too busy mastubating over prostitutes to worry about me.”

Coughing and spluttering on air, Jamie had to take hold of the arm of his chair as the words echoed around the quiet room. “Christ, Claire...really?” 

“Yes, really. You see, it’s the kind of thing teenage boys with access to PornHub joke about - as if they’d ever get the chance,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, “and rich men actively pursue whilst hiding from their significant other. I told you I didn’t know gentle.” Falling onto the sofa beside him, she sighed deeply, the weariness of the day making her whole body ache. “He and I were classmates and then fellows together at the university. We weren’t promised to the other, he had no allegiance to me, and even though we’d been sort of close,” she seemed to be holding back, but he let her continue without interrupting, “I was glad when I walked in on them. It showed me what my life would become if I ever allied myself with him.” 

“I suspect ye dinna want this then...to call him back?” He said, holding the sticky note aloft that had his phone number scribbled on. Seeing the indignant look on her face, he took the yellow paper, screwed it up and threw it into the nearby bin. “Weel, that’s that then. How was the meeting?” His tone was laced with curiosity and it was clear from the question and his general demeanor that he had no clue what the will had been newly altered. 

“It was good.” Her face was peaceful once more, her shoulders relaxing as she smiled shyly over at him. “Nothing that I expected - but that was Lamb all over.”

“Good then?”

“Yes, and right.”

“Do ye have any plans for the house?” Continuing with his task of menial housework, he shifted some of the items on the old desk that sat in the lounge. “Selling, or keeping it in the family?”

“It isn’t up to me.” She said quickly

Jamie raised his eyebrows, placing an iPad down before looking directly at her for more clarity. “Oh.” 

“There’s a portion gone to charity, the usual, ones that have specific investments in maintaining artifacts and items uncovered on archeological digs.” Passing him an official looking envelope, Claire let a sense of overwhelming relief course through her as she watched him - his face going from surprise to extreme shock. 

“This canna be right…” he stammered.

“It is.”

“Ye dinna seem fashed about it.”

“Ha!” She scoffed. “I’m not ...but you are. I told you it was right. I have my parents’ trust fund, their house and the rest of their estate. I don’t need more possessions and money. He wrote me a letter, it said you’d spoken at length for your plans for the future. That you wanted to open your own publishing house using a press your father has, you’ve even written a book, yes? The one your sister has illustrated? He wanted you to have this, to do what you’ve been waiting all these years to do...and so do I.” 

“Does that mean yer going home?” He spoke without thinking, interpreting the words about her home down south as a given that she wouldn’t be staying too long in Glasgow. 

“I don’t know yet. I have some things to think about before I make a more solid decision.” 

“This feels--”

“Don’t fret, Jamie. I agree with everything he’s set out.” 

“I still think the house question is relevant, aye? If he means for it to be left to any child of yours it’ll need upkeep and maintenance.”

She knew that he had a point. However, she found something was stopping her from committing to a life in Glasgow. “There’s money in a pot for that, for Mary to continue on here should I go back. Or somewhere else.”

“But ye can stay, if ye want?”

“Yes.”

“Though no’ sell the place?”

“No.” Smiling softly, Claire pulled the letter Lamb had left for her from her pocket and thumbed the open seal lightly. “And nor do I want to. I like it and I love that he’s given it a history. He purchased it knowing it would be the last place he lived in, I knew he wasn’t planning on moving again. Daft I know,” she sighed, “it’s part of the reason I didn’t make more of an effort to get here. I thought he’d be around forever so I put it off. Very foolish of me.” 

Walking a few strides, covering the distance that stood between them, Jamie took Claire’s face in his hand, basking in the warmth of her cheek before placing his lips delicately over her own. “There has to come a time, lass when the self flagellation is too much, ye ken? We all feel the same about our family. I doubt there’s a human being out there who hasn’t thought they had all the time in the world only to discover that they didn’t.” 

“You’re being too nice to me.” 

“Maybe,” he returned, “or maybe no’. But I spent enough time with Quentin to ken that he loved you fiercely. He knew yer situation better than you think, kent the people -or the types of people- in yer circles down in Oxford.”

“...and he had to die for me to get my shit together and get out.”

“So don’t go back, then. Use his legacy and the distance from that lifestyle to forge a new place for yerself.” 

“Maybe,” she said, using his words against him, “maybe not.” Chuckling, she took him by the hand and led him upstairs, goosebumps running down her arm as they silent ascended the stairs, closing her door behind them.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has a decision to make.

The tingle of something altogether too pleasant ran along the inside of her thighs, bringing Claire out of her slumber. Two hands gripped her, keeping her gently in place as Jamie nestled himself neatly between her legs. She opened her eyes, squinting but unable to lift her head enough to see him clearly. 

“Oh...God…” She moaned. Her lip caught between her teeth as her back arched off the mattress, one hand fisted in the sheets whilst the other sought out the confines of his hair, her fingers twitching against his skull as his tongue worked some sort of magic against her needy flesh. 

It wasn’t long before she found herself shaky and spent, her head resting solidly against his chest as he kissed her forehead. 

“I think we should finish it...together,” she whispered. The thought had been rattling around since the funeral. WIth all of Lamb’s friends gathered under one roof, Claire had been asked on numerous occasions whether his manuscript would be forthcoming and, although she couldn’t give an accurate response, she hadn’t been able to say no. “I don’t think I could do it by myself, and you have the better insight. But I would hate to see it languishing on our computers - unread.” 

“When do we start?” In all honesty Jamie was excited by the prospect. It didn’t mean Claire had committed to a life in Glasgow, but it meant he would have more time to silently convince her. 

“Later,” she mumbled, turning quickly in order to catch him unawares, “right now I think we have some unfinished business of our own.” Pinning him to the bed, she kissed him once on the lips, keeping him still with her hips as she began the painfully slow trip down his neck and along his chest. 

\-- --- --

With a fresh cup of coffee in her hands, Claire peeled open her laptop, drumming her fingers against the wood of the desk as she waited for it to load.

“So, I think we should discuss where we take this from, aye?” Jamie began, blowing the steam from his hot tea. “We’d been sort of sticking to a chronological order, ye ken from what ye’ve already read that most of the early years tales have been written, the middle too. It’s mainly the later years we have to finish off.”

“I have some of his letters, if that helps?” 

Lamb, like clockwork, had written to Claire. Being caught up in her own life, she had read them -replied to a couple- though had never gone into the sort of detail he’d hoped for. But she had kept them safe, read them over and over until the ink had begun to fade from some of the pages. She had treasured them when she’d been so down that she had wanted to take him up on his offer and leave Oxford. Now, it seemed, they might be all the more useful to them. 

The scent of toast wafted into the small lounge as the buzzer beeped in the kitchen. With breakfast nearly ready, she left him to finish off the food while she rushed upstairs to collect the tin. Clutching it tightly between her fingers, she placed it delicately on the table, leaving it for Jamie to open. 

“He certainly covered all of his bases, didn’t he?” Jamie chuckled, taking a bite of toast and passing Claire a plate of her own. “Now we can just interpret them, I can help fill in some of the blanks and we can get a great end - something Quentin would be proud of.”

They spent the rest of the day surrounded by paper, trying to reorganise as many letters as possible, finding some semblance of an order to the stories told within them. By the time the sun was setting, the automatic lights turning on in sequence around the small room, they had already found a few that could be discarded as well as some incredibly valuable *new* anecdotes that Jamie had loosely remembered Lamb talking about but hadn’t been able to fully add to their timetable of events, not until he’d read and re-read the words a few times.

Standing, an envelope in her hands and a biro tucked neatly through her messy bun, Claire scratched her head with the end of the paper. “How long do you think this will take to finish?” She asked, knowing he might have a better idea now they’d finally completed the task of skim-reading most of the letters. “Not that I’m in a rush, of course.” A distinct red blush coated her cheeks as she smiled across at Jamie, her memories of their mornings adventures flashing before her eyes as her stomach clenched. 

“Ach well, that all depends on how fast I can type.” He jested, winking -both of his eyes closing for a brief moment as his inability to do so reared its head. It looked rather like an extended blink rather than a wink which caused Claire to bite her lip as she held back her laughter.”But in all honesty I reckon we might have a good rough end in a month or two. That includes a couple of draft reads and edits.” 

“Two months? Max?” A bolt of fear shot through her at the prospect of an end. After their first encounter, she had grown fond of their daily interactions. Whether it was the agonising lust that seemed to set her on fire from the inside out, or the little touches of his hand on hers as he past her on the stairs, there was something otherworldly about the way his body called to hers and the idea of another few guilt free months in his company made her heart race and her toes curl. 

“What will ye do when we’re done?” The question fell from his mouth without him really thinking about it, but he could tell by the widening of her eyes that she wasn’t really sure. 

In the week after the funeral, neither had really made any steps in returning to their proper routine. Jamie had made sure the shelves were stocked with good food, he had called his bosses and kept them abreast of the ever changing situation, putting their minds at ease as him and Claire had discussed some varied details of what Lamb might want in the wake of his death. Other than that, though, both had just basked in the quiet company of the other. 

Claire had a few things in mind for her immediate future, she had been dreaming vividly and the more she delved into the early life of her uncle, and his days lost with her in the wilderness, the more she wanted to pen her own version of events -though she had no idea where to start. 

“Maybe I’ll become like Mary Poppins,” picking up the much abused video box of the classic movie from Lamb’s shelf, she ran her finger over the front cover and smiled, “and go where the wind takes me.” 

“Are ye feeling the need for an adventure now?” Tapping against one of the smaller piles, he cocked his head to the side. With the tales fresh in his mind, he could almost feel the intoxication, the lure of travel from the stories Lamb had woven into the very fabric of the paper. 

“Maybe,” she sighed, a very basic plot forming in her mind, “but there’s a chance I’ll need your assistance with it.” 

\-- --- --

Days turned into weeks and before either of them knew it, a whole month had passed in a blur. Working day and night, powered by caffeine and the company of the other, Jamie and Claire began to put the final words down on the biography. They barely spoke of what would happen once they’d finished, but on the days she wasn’t working on Lambs memoir, Claire was thinking of her own novella. 

“I think we’re ready for this version to go to the publishers now. What do you think?” Pulling his glasses from his nose and placing them beside his laptop, he stretched his legs beneath the table and suppressed a yawn. 

“I agree, I think we’ve done all we can with it -- I think he’d be proud.” Gazing out of the window, the dulled glass caused the passers by to appear disjoined as they walked by. She was in a world of her own, the words swirling around her as if Lamb were here himself. His voice seemed to speak to her and it wasn’t until a flurry of activity caught her off guard and brought her out of her daydream that she realised Jamie was still talking. “C-can you repeat that, sorry…”

“I just agreed wi’ ye, he would be.” A slow smile spread across his face as she turned back to him. “He’d be so proud of you too, Claire.” 

“It was a while back now, but do you remember the phone call you took for me, from Frank?”

A cold shudder ran down his spine but he nodded as he tried to hold back the vitriol. Though no more had been said about the man, he knew from the way she occasionally reacted to him that nothing good could come from her mentioning him. “Aye, I do.” 

“Before you I had little to no knowledge of proper *human* relationships. I met him, Frank, in Africa when I was there with Lamb, though the two never really crossed paths. He was my first kiss and when we finally bumped into one another again back home I sort of just found myself gravitating towards him. When I was away, in the desert, in the jungle, anywhere really with Lamb he had an unconscious way about him. He kept me grounded in some way. But alone, I was useless. I was trapped, wrapped up in this elevated world hidden from mere mortals where people like Frank are completely untouchable.” 

Pouring her a wee dram, Jamie walked Claire to the sofa, sitting her down before handing her the tumbler. 

She took a swig before continuing. “I’m so scared.” 

“Of what, lass?”

“I don’t even know!” She sighed, exasperated. “Of finishing this and having nothing. Of staying and then this turning to dust. Of going home and falling straight back into old habits - but those are the ones I know. It’s daft. I know which the terrible decision is, but you represent something infinitely worse.”

"Aye, worse am I?" He tried to joke, but it fell flat the moment the words left his mouth.

"No- harder." 

"Which is it Claire?" 

"I don’t know, I don't know how to explain, I’m sorry, Jamie,” she spluttered, passing the glass back, her hand shaking as she stood quickly, “I think I just need some space.” Rushing from the lounge, she headed straight up to her room and slammed the door shut. 

It was the first night in a long time that she spent alone. Jamie, still shocked and flustered by her fast exit, sat for a while by himself before gathering some of his belongings and returning to his own flat for the night. Claire heard the front door slam, her hand covering her mouth as she cried almost silently. Curling up on her bed, she kept her eyes on the case she had never quite unpacked as if it’s half-filled mass was indicative of where she was always meant to end up. 

There were a couple of letters she had held back from Jamie, ones that had more personal comments that she wasn’t comfortable sharing. Yet. 

Morning arrived, the sun streaming in through her open blinds. She’d slept on and off and rubbed her red-rimmed eyes as she crawled out from beneath the thin blanket that she’d pulled over herself sometime during the early hours. 

“Claire?” 

She jumped a little, shocked that he had somehow managed to sneak back in without her hearing him. The first reply barely left her mouth, her throat dry as she swallowed and tried again. “Yes, Jamie?”

The door opened slowly, the hinges creaking as he popped his head around the wood. “I have somewhere to take ye, will you come wi’ me?”

Nodding, she plucked a piece of stray fluff from her creased jeans. “Yes, sure, can I change first?”

“Of course,” he replied, “I’ll wait downstairs.” 

Quickly, she used her en-suite to wash and re-dress in clean clothes before placing her purse and notepad into her small bag. Making her way downstairs, she felt a heaviness cross her chest. He was waiting, his car keys resting between his fingers.

“Driving?”

“Aye, ready?”

“Yes.”

\-- --- --

The motorway wasn’t too dissimilar from the train ride, though the sound of the wheels on tarmac were slightly more relaxing than the chug of the metal wheels against the tracks. “Do you want to tell me what surprise you have in store for me?” She tried to sound light, but somehow she still sounded worried. 

“Ye’ll see.” He returned, a tight smile lifting his lips slightly. 

“Have you sent the manuscript off?”

“I emailed the first PDF this morning before we left. I’ll hear soon and I’ve cc’d you into it, so ye should know the moment they respond to me.” 

As they drove over each county line, a new sign popping up to indicate their direction, Claire started to feel more and more nervous. As Dumfries and Galloway came into view, she felt this almighty lump forming in her throat. Just before the Gretna junction, Jamie pulled off the motorway just as the sun peaked high in the sky. Small villages came and went until a borders train station came into view, giving her a glance at the side of a carriage as it sat quietly on the partially hidden platform. 

“Will you tell me now?” She asked calmly, though she had an idea of what was about to happen. 

“It isn’t due to leave for another thirty minutes,” he said, pointing at the ScotRail service idling beside them, “I’ll wait, to make sure ye get away alright, and I’ll make sure the rest of your belongings get back to Oxford safely. But I think ye might need something more than I can offer ye here.”

“You think I should go back?”

“That’s what ye’ve been thinking about, aye? Yer home. The one you’ve belonged in.” 

“Home.” She mirrored, the word seeming foreign on her tongue. “What about the rest of Lamb’s biography?”

“We can email. And I can phone. It’s written, no’ much will need completing on it now.” 

“...and there’s nothing for me here?” Her voice was steadily lowering, getting more inaudible as cars started to pull in and park around them. 

“Only ye ken that.” Opening the car door, he gallantly walked to her side and held out his hand for her to take. “I’ll wait until yer gone, to make sure you’re safe and ye can call whenever you like.”

Finding her voice seemed impossible and she couldn’t help but replay their last conversation over and over in her head. Having confessed to him that he was the more terrifying option, she had fled and hidden in her room. Walking over to the entrance, she turned only to find him hunched over, his back facing towards her as he rested against his car bonnet. Her feet kept moving, though every step increased the stabbing pain in her chest. 

Hauling himself back into the front seat, Jamie let his head flop onto the steering wheel. It was highly likely that his plan could backfire massively, but from the moment he’d mentioned the end of the book he had felt an immediate disconnect from Claire. It was fear, that much was clear, and he didn’t want to send her back to somewhere she was deeply unhappy. However, something in his gut told him that her misplaced sense of self was too fragile to be convinced to stay with words alone. At the first sign of trouble, she would run. If she wanted to stay, to make a life here with him, she needed to make this choice herself. 

Sitting with her hands wrapped in her coat, Claire watched as various passengers wandered up and down the platform, the guards opening and closing the doors for them. Though it wasn’t freezing cold, she couldn’t help but feel chilled. Though she hadn’t picked up on it before, reading back through Lamb’s letters it had suddenly become clear about his intentions for her. Clearly he hadn’t voiced those opinions to Jamie but it had been silly of her to think he didn’t know of her situation in Oxford. A man in uniform raised his brows as he walked by her for the tenth time. Standing, she brushed the creases from her trousers. This wasn’t a choice between Jamie and Frank because that would have been an impossibly easy decision, but a choice between who she’d always been and a new variant of herself. As the clouds of steam cleared from the front of the train, the sight of the car sat stoically in the car park made her stumble backwards and she sighed loudly as her bottom hit the warmed wooden seat once more. 

A loud horn echoed through the trees surrounding the station as the engine pulled out and disappeared off into Cumbria. As promised he waited, long enough to watch as the car park emptied and the lights dimmed in the entrance to the platforms. 

Closing his eyes, he inhaled, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he tried to calm himself enough to turn the engine on and drive away. 

A knock on the window made him sit bolt upright, sweat running down his back as he twisted to see who’d disturbed his pity party.

“Claire!”

She stood, tears in her eyes as she stepped back from the car. “Take me home, Jamie, please. To Glasgow” 

Taking her hand, he bought it to his lips and kissed her softly. “Aye,” he replied, watching as she sniffed, shaking her head as she made her way to the passenger side and climbed in. “Home it is.”


End file.
